Voidbound
by fluttermoth
Summary: The Listener asks Lucien Lachance about his death, and the sadistic spirit is rather eager to tell the tale. (Rated M for sexual content)


**Warnings: BDSM elements (restraints/whipping), Dom!Lucien, knife-play, mentions of torture.  
**

* * *

"May I ask you a question?"

Her inquiry is met by a gossamer chuckle as the silvery form of Lucien Lachance shimmers into view. His essence changing from a transparent mist to something more tangible before Lumen's eyes.

"You just did," he says, his full lips curling into an amused smile.

Lumen tucks an errant strand of hair behind her ear, ignoring his gibe. "Well it's a rather personal question."

"Are we not bound eternally through the Void, my Listener?" he asks, moving closer to her, his curiosity piqued. "There's no such thing as a 'personal question' between us."

The pad of Lumen's finger traces along the edge of a thick, leather-bound book. One of the many she discovered in the Dark Brotherhood's ancient sanctuary. Unfortunately, there is little information she can glean from the timeworn tome, with its crumbling pages and mottled ink. She stares down at the book, wishing she'd just kept her curiosity to herself. Because the question _is_ personal and Lumen has always held a healthy respect for Lucien Lachance. He is, after all, a Dark Brotherhood legend and she has no desire to offend him.

"My Listener," he says, his smooth, silky baritone tugging Lumen from her worries. "Ask."

Lumen stiffens at the command, her amber eyes meeting Lucien's dark, spectral ones. "How did you die?"

Lucien's smile curves further up on one side. "I was murdered, sister," he tells her, and his smirk goes from amused to positively sadistic. Then, he moves faster than Lumen had ever seen him. One moment, he's standing in front of her, and the next, he's behind her. "Do you want to know how?" he asks, his voice carrying an elation she'd never heard from him before.

Her audible swallow draws another chuckle from the specter, and it takes Lumen a moment to find her voice. "I admit- I am a little curious."

"More than a _little_ curious, I'd say," he purrs. "It does make sense that one who's sent so many to their deaths would desire to know what it feels like."

"I'd rather not find out first-hand, just yet," she says, trying like the Void to keep her voice even. Lucien wouldn't kill her, she knows that. But that knowledge does little to calm her nerves when the specter is stalking around her, looking at her the way a hungry cat looks at a guppy in a fishbowl.

"Of course," he nods. "My Silencer and I had been deceived, as had the remaining members of the Black Hand by a man named Mathieu Bellamont. I sent my Silencer to find evidence that would exonerate me, for the Black Hand believed I was the traitor. But she did not make it in time." Lucien speaks with bored nonchalance of a man talking about the weather, as though his death was no more significant than a slight chance of rain. "I tried to declare my innocence, but my pleas fell on deaf ears, as I knew they would. I did not expect my brothers and sisters to show me mercy, and I did not ask for it."

Lucien moves behind her again and says, "I was subdued when Banus stabbed me here," he presses his fingers against her stomach, putting pressure against her liver, which brings forth a wave of nausea. "The wound would've been fatal, but Arquen was a skilled healer and once I had been bound," his icy hands grab her by the wrists, wrenching them behind her. "I was healed, so the Black Hand could mete out their punishment. My siblings were well-versed in the art of torture, drawing out the exquisite agony of my death for_ hours_."

His fingers slip into her hand as he steps in front of her, and Lumen visibly shivers when Lucien draws a finger down the length of her bare arm, only stopping when he'd gently taken the tip of her smallest digit between his thumb and forefinger. "First was Belisarius with the pliers," he tells her with a dark chuckle. "Usually I am the one delivering such glorious torments, so imagine my utter delight to be on the receiving end of such attentions."

"It doesn't sound delightful to me," Lumen admits

"Oh, but it was. With each snap of bone, white-hot pain lanced through my fingers, then my arms." Lumen jumps when the specter drags a fingernail across her flesh, and she is momentarily stunned by the realization that the ghost even has them. "The pain became pleasure as it pooled," his hand splays against her stomach, sliding down and coming to a rest just between her hips. "Right here, or somewhere very near. Though I dare not travel any further, Listener… That would be inappropriate."

Lumen has half a mind to tell him that the line of propriety has been well and truly crossed at this point, and she begins to wonder just what on Nirn she'd gotten herself into by asking him about his death. "You- " she pauses, choosing her words carefully, "You took pleasure in this?"

He breathes a soft, amused laugh. "My tormentors were content to keep me teetering on the knife's edge - quite, literally - between pleasure and pain. Though, I must confess, while I did enjoy being punctured, sliced, and broken," a deathly cold finger traces the swell of her lips, "the removal of my lips was most upsetting," his ethereal form flickers slightly as he pulls away from her.

"I would imagine so," she murmurs, bringing her fingers to her lips, which still hold the chill of Lucien's touch.

"Despite the damage that had been done to me, I'd never felt more alive than I did in that moment. Every nerve ending was alight as my brothers and sister pushed me to the limits of what my mortal form could experience," he moves behind her again, firm, cold fingers gripping her throat and the other resting upon her hip. "I was more eager then, to spill myself and so be freed of an ache that had lingered too long. But they ruined me to ensure that I would never have that one last, albeit joyless, release."

Lumen's body stiffens at the grip around her neck. "What do you mean they 'ruined' you?" she asks, in a wavering voice. Dizzy with the thrill of being so close to something - someone - so dangerous.

His fingers curl against her hip. "Use your imagination, Listener," he suggests, the hand moving from her hip and settling in between her legs. The touch of his icy fingers is a severe contrast to the searing heat that has been steadily blooming there, and she wonders if he can feel her warmth as keenly as she can feel his chill.

"Yet here in my less corporeal form I can still feel that _need_. The most base of human urges," his fingers press firmly against her, the cold pressure of his ethereal digits drawing a gasp from her. "Strange that I so vividly recall the pleasures of the flesh when I have none of my own."

"I find it more strange that you're so-"

"Tangible?" he suggests, and he gives her another firm press of his fingers just to drive the point home. "It's just a matter of concentration, Listener," his lips are against her ear, his voice a low whisper. Stranger still, is that when he speaks she feels an errant puff of wind, as if the ghost has breath. It smells the same way the air does before a thunderstorm; crisp, clean, and seething with power.

"Shall I continue?" Lucien asks.

All too often, Lumen's insatiable curiosity gets the better of her, and has landed her in some strange situations. But as careless as she is, she's not stupid, and she knows what he's asking for - permission. And she's eager to give it. To feel more than those cold fingers pressing against her through her clothing.

"Yes. But if I tell you to stop..." her voice trails off, watching the ghost as he moves to stand in front of her.

"Command me to stop and I will," he tells her, trailing a finger across her breast and smiling as her nipple hardens beneath her tunic.

She bites her lip, doing her best to keep her voice even. "All right. So... Tell me more."

"Oh, I will. But I need to show you in order for you to fully appreciate the abilities of your predecessors."

At those words he produces a length of rope - ethereal rope, she notices with some amusement - and loops it around her wrists. The rope feels like silk against her skin, and a little shiver of fear runs through her at the mere idea of being bound. It's not something she ever particularly enjoyed, but she doesn't tell him to stop. Not yet.

Lucien's hands are on her shoulders, pushing her back until she is pressed against the wall, then he guides her arms up, hooking the rope that binds her over an unlit sconce. Once she is secured in place, he says, "I was hung upside down, but I will spare you from that discomfort."

"You're too kind," she says sarcastically.

Lucien holds a finger over her lips, his eyes meeting hers. "Be quiet," he commands, "the Keeper might find your particular brand of mordancy charming, but I do not."

Lumen starts to apologize, but she is silenced by the hard look in his eyes. With his dagger, he effortlessly slices through her tunic, splitting it down the middle and exposing her skin. Her breast band is next, and the shimmering, blue blade cuts through the thin material as easily as a hot knife cuts through butter.

"Now, as I said, I was subdued when I was stabbed here," he draws his dagger across her stomach, where he'd pressed earlier. The tip of the dagger draws an angry, red mark across her flesh. Lumen hisses at the sting of the blade but makes no effort to protest. He'd not drawn blood, at least.

"The liver is so delicate," he murmurs, digging the pommel of the dagger against her skin, putting more pressure than he did previously on the sensitive organ, invoking not only a wave of nausea, but a rush of fear. "Uncomfortable, isn't it? I know you're familiar with the color of the blood that comes from this area. That beautiful, deep red that turns as black as the Void when it mixes with bile. It's… mesmerizing."

"Despite the numerous torments, I did not actually die until I was cut from here," he lays the flat of the blade against the top of her breast, drawing it over the swell. The sensation sends another stab of heat to her core, and once the blade reaches the skin beneath her breast, he presses the tip hard against her flesh and drags the knife down until it reaches the hem of her trousers, "to here," Lucien finishes, admiring the red mark his dagger left in its wake. "I suppose I should be glad that I slipped into the darkness of the Void when they disemboweled me. Though I hate to miss out on any kind of new experience."

Lumen shivers when he pushes her trousers down over her hips. The chill of the room, the stone wall, and mostly the chill of _him_, coursing through her like a bitingly cold winter's night. His dagger makes quick work of her smalls, and Lumen twists her lips in annoyance at the destruction of her clothing.

He grips her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tight enough to make her wince. "Better to see your clothes destroyed than your own flesh," he says, his voice deadly serious. He lays the flat side of the blade against her sex and Lumen goes very, very still. In the blink of an eye, that sadistic smirk is back in place. "I am seldom at a loss for words, but it is difficult to explain what castration feels like. So again, I'll just have you use your imagination."

The cold blade leaves her sex to prod at her inner thigh. "Spread your legs," he says, and Lumen does as she's told, but not without looking away from Lucien. She's embarrassed at being so exposed, so complacent and so desperately aroused.

"Oh no, that won't do," he tugs at her chin, forcing her to look at him. "No sense in being coy at this juncture," he says, his eyes never leaving hers as his fingers slip past her sparse curls, delving between her soft lips, and sliding through the slick, wetness that is already there. His cold fingers pull a strangled moan from her when they find her aching center. He doesn't bother to tease her, preferring hard, insistent strokes that are perfectly timed to stir the heated pressure building low in her belly.

Which is why she cries out in frustration when he pulls away. "No, no- _shit_!"

Lucien brings his fingers to her mouth, slick with her own fluids, and he pushes his index and middle fingers past her lips to compress her tongue. "_Be still_," he hisses, and the rope around her wrists tightens just a fraction.

Lumen growls, thrashing against her binds. A sharp, stabbing pain forms behind her eyes due to the glacial temperature of the ghost's fingers, and she tries to pull away but Lucien has her jaw in a firm, authoritative grip.

"Are you angry, Listener?"

Lumen nods her head, glaring at him and teething vainly at the digits in her mouth.

"Do you want me to stop?"

That question gives her pause. Curiosity has her wondering what else Lucien has in store for her, and her foolish pride refuses to let her give up. Common sense, however, is telling her to swallow her pride and walk away before things go too far. But Lumen's baser urges are making their needs known as well, and it's difficult to ignore that insistent, throbbing ache between her legs.

She shakes her head.

"No? Oh, _good_," Lucien's full lips curl into a wicked grin at her answer, "I still have so much to tell you, and I hate to leave anything unfinished."

His fingers push further inside her mouth, stopping just before he hits the place that would cause her to gag. The ghost seems to be acutely aware of her limits, but Lumen still bites down hard on his fingers to prevent them from going any deeper.

"You are in dire need of discipline," he says, flicking the tip of the dagger over her hard nipple, and Lumen groans in response. "That's what the Black Hand said about me, you know," he flicks the tip over her other nipple, looking rather pleased when he gets the same reaction. "In my case it was not true."

Lumen can barely hear his words over the blood pounding in her ears. She rubs her thighs together, desperate for any amount of friction to fight against that pulsing need between her legs. But she halts her squirming when she feels the tip of the dagger come to rest against the soft, divot of flesh between her collar bones.

Lumen realizes that the truly stupid thing she has done is to think of Lucien Lachance is a mortal man. If he'd possessed the ability to feel empathy or regret when he was alive, then surely it is gone now. A spirit of the Void has no need for such things. A true murderer, through and through. As likely to kill her as he is to fuck her. He'd probably do both if it weren't for the tenets preventing him from slitting her throat when all is said and done.

"Patience, Listener. You can't appreciate pleasure until you've learned to appreciate pain," he murmurs, and pulls his fingers from her mouth, leaving a strange, metallic taste upon her tongue. Lucien's fingers skim across her breasts, and he pinches a nipple hard with his saliva-slicked fingers. Lumen sucks in a breath, determined not to cry out.

"Ah, how I have missed this. The flesh of the living is always ripe for pain," the ghost purrs. "Turn around, Listener," he orders, smacking her on the rear to hurry her along.

Deciding that any hesitation will likely earn more discomfort, Lumen turns to face the wall. The ethereal binds around her wrists growing tighter as the rope twists around the sconce. Turning her back on Lucien goes against every survival instinct she has, and panic fully grips her when he starts to trace the contours of her back with his dagger. As the blade is drawn down her spine it begins to change - becoming soft and supple like leather, the tip splitting into nine different ends when it reaches the generous swell of her bottom.

"Do you know what this is?" he asks, drawing the ghostly, nine-tailed whip along her sides.

"I do," Lumen grits out, torn between anger and curiosity. No one has ever dared to whip her, and she's never desired it. However, her body is infinitely more honest than she'll ever be, and she bites her lip when she feels a wet trickle of desire run down her inner thigh in response to the whip.

Lucien chuckles. "Eager, are we? I was always fond of this particular punishment. Unfortunately for me, my captors preferred metal rather than leather. But fortunately for you, I do not wish to leave you with any permanent damage."

"Well thank the Night Mother for small favors," Lumen says, and her sarcasm is repaid by Lucien snapping the tails across her back, making her cry out in both surprise and pain. He doesn't give her a moment of respite, and another lash falls across her shoulder blades, then the small of her back.

_It hurts_. It hurts worse than she ever expected. But with each kiss of the whip's tails, she gains a heightened awareness of her own body. The sound of her racing heart is almost deafening. Her flesh so sensitized that she swears she can feel every mote of dust crashing against her skin, and every bead of sweat skittering across her flesh like fingernails. Each subsequent touch of the cold, incorporeal whip is more potent than the last. Its tails sending warm tendrils of pain splashing across her flesh like the seed of an amorous lover.

Anxiety builds up in anticipation of the pain that she _knows_ will come, and then relief floods her when it finally does. Lumen presses against the gritty, stone wall for support, and twists her fingers around the rope binding her wrists. Hanging onto it like a lifeline, lest she become lost in the flux of Lucien's cruel ministrations. Distantly, she is aware of someone moaning, someone babbling helplessly and _begging_ for mercy. It can't be her, she refuses to accept that it's _her voice_ pleading with the spirit.

She's so overwhelmed that she scarcely notices when the lash is taken away and replaced with the gentle caresses of ghostly fingers. He is so close that she can see the fog of her breath in the air, and if she wasn't cold before, she's absolutely freezing now as the ghost presses close against the abused flesh of her back. His brumal chill seeping through her when his member nudges between her wet folds.

"Oh gods," Lumen gasps, grateful that Lucien is no longer interested in teasing her - or punishing her. With one, quick thrust he's hilted inside of her. She groans at the sensation of being filled after yearning for it for so long. Lucien's fingers twine in her hair, yanking her backwards; her back bowing at an uncomfortable angle. His dark, merciless eyes staring down into hers as he begins to move his hips.

His other hand grips her hip hard. "As you can tell, I am as whole now as I was in life."

'Whole' isn't quite the word Lumen would choose, but words are not her strong point right now. Not when that deliciously thick cock is sliding in-and-out at an unrelenting pace. She can feel the pressure of a long-awaited orgasm start to build, and she almost sobs in gratitude when his hand leaves her hip to travel between her legs.. His dexterous fingers sliding between her folds and pressing against her clit.

The combination of his thrusts and fingers send her thoughts scattering. The world around her shifts and then explodes in a swell of pleasure so great that it almost hurts. The waves of a powerful release blooming between her legs, then billowing out to the rest of her body. Her head spins and she gasps for air, then cries out as an intense orgasm wracks her body. Amidst her cries she can hear the ghost growling behind her, this thrusts falling out of rhythm and then-

She is falling. The rope vanishing from her wrists and Lucien's supportive hands gone. Her legs crumple beneath her as she slumps to the cold, stone floor.

The door to her bedroom flies open, and a frantic jester comes barreling into her room. "Listener! Cicero heard you-" he pauses, staring at her for only a moment before he shakes himself out of his surprised stupor, "-scream."

Lumen huffs a tired laugh at the expression on Cicero's face. She can't even begin to imagine how she must look at this very moment, and she's hardly cross at him for staring. It's not everyday that Cicero finds his Listener as naked as the day she was born, sitting in a puddle of ectoplasm, and looking as dazed as a skooma addict.

But Cicero, helpful as ever, launches into action. Yanking a blanket from her bed and wrapping it around her shoulders before helping her to her feet. He guides her to the chair in front of the fireplace, murmuring gentle encouragements and letting her lean on him for support.

Lumen slumps into the chair. "Thank you, Cicero."

"Oh, it is no problem, Listener," he gently brushes her messy hair away from her face. Then, he offers a sympathetic smile and says, "So... you asked him too, hmm?"

* * *

**Notes: **Written for the SKM. The prompt asked for Lucien describing his death in graphic detail. But, since it's _me_, this turned into more of a smutfic than a torturefic. I do hope it's enjoyable. I had fun with this! I don't often write Lumen in a submissive role. But I think she needed an attitude adjustment, and Lucien was the perfect assassin for the job. ;)


End file.
